


Misha

by photonromance



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Ficlet, Forced Pregnancy, M/M, Mpreg, current nonconsenual pregnancy, past consensual sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-06-28 05:30:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15700773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/photonromance/pseuds/photonromance
Summary: Will had dreams of family. Of a life with Hannibal. Of a life with their daughter. Dreams were all they would ever be now. If he survived this, things couldn't be what they might have been.





	Misha

**Author's Note:**

> This is actually an older piece I never got around to publishing, but my sweet partner and I were talking and well... Here we are!

Will shivers and tugs his blanket tighter around his body. He's wearing his biggest tee and sleeping pants and it's snowing out. The room is comfortably warm but Will is always cold these days. His belly is getting bigger every day, their child's growth blessedly unimpeded by the stress Will is under. 

 

The bedroom door's lock clicks loudly and Will flinches away, drawing the covers as close as possible. Hannibal comes in with a plate in one hand and Will fights the urge to gag. He doesn't say anything, just sets the plate on the dresser before turning to Will. The room is oppressively silent. It's evening and it's falling dark and there's snow piling in the window sill. If he wasn't so scared, Will might have considered it terribly romantic. 

 

"You need to eat." Hannibal says quietly. 

 

"I don't- don't want..." Will chokes off, fisting his blankets closer. He turns away only to have Hannibal haul him bodily to the edge of the bed. "Stop!" Will cries, curling up. He's afraid to fight, lest he harm their child. 

 

Hannibal rights him and goes about his daily checks. He checks every inch of easily accessible skin for marks, a new addition to the usual regimen after he caught Will on the bathroom floor with a broken razor. He hadn't done anything, too achingly aware of the life he carried to tear at his own flesh.

 

(Will was given everything he might need in the beginning. He only lost privileges as he disobeyed or broke rules. Hannibal had taken his safety razor, his shoes, locked his windows shut, and would sit with Will until he'd eaten everything Hannibal brought him. If he tried to starve himself Hannibal had assured him it would be dealt with.) 

 

The good doctor looks him over everyday now, shaves for him as well, measures his growth and vital signs. Will stands still for it. He is so tired, exhausted mentally as well as physically. The child, their beautiful baby girl, takes a lot out of him. He's not well designed to bear children, after all. 

 

Hannibal does his fair share to wear Will down. His hands are so gentle as he pets over Will's arms, fingers tracing the creases of his elbows. He's infinitely gentle and Will wants to cry. He aches for before. Before he knew what was on his dinner plate. Before he knew what Hannibal did when he spent the night out of bed. Hannibal's warm hands grip his upper arms and Will bites back a sob. 

 

He won't cry. Won't do it. 

 

He feeds Will dinner. It's a simple salad and a grilled chicken breast, familiar enough that Will takes it without complaint. Hannibal cuts each bite and spears it. Will opens his mouth obediently and dinner completes without a struggle. 

 

Sitting back on the edge of the bed, Hannibal kneels at the bedside and pushes up Will's shirt. He spreads his palms over the taut skin of his pregnant belly and strokes lovingly. His hands are dry and warm and the heat and pressure feel fantastic. Will says nothing, even when the child flutters, kicking out at her father's touch. Hannibal smiles, in his small, reserved way.

 

He tucks the blankets around Will and kisses his forehead chastely. It's familiar and warm and Will turns  away to curl under his covers. Hannibal leans over and runs his fingers through chocolate curls. He lingers there, something wistful in his silence. He leaves another kiss on Will's temple before he leaves. 

 

The lock clicks and Will shudders as his trapped tears escape. Before, when he first found out he was pregnant, Hannibal would lie on his back and let Will curl up on his chest, their legs tangled together while they whispered about their plans and the future they might have together. Will cries himself to sleep most nights now. It's pathetic and he curls a hand around his belly as he hiccups. He wonders what will happen to him once she's born. 

 

She flutters under his hand, responsive to familiar touch. His beloved little girl is the only reason he hadn't slit his wrists that first night. The only reason he chokes down meals prepared by a man he knows is a killer. Will curls around her and soothes himself with slow circles into his skin. 

 

Hannibal told him what happened when he was young, about his beloved sister and his family's slaughter. Will had kissed his fingers while he recounted the tale, gazed up at him with wide eyes. They had kissed, tender and salt with shared suffering and Will had chosen their daughter's name. He whispers it into the dark and it invokes both a painful ache and a warm curl of wordless affection. 

 

"My precious Misha." 


End file.
